The Starks of Winterfell
by XxSevenSevenxX
Summary: 305AL - The Starks never left Winterfell so that Ned can become the Hand of the King and the War of the Five Kings never happened. Instead, Robert Baratheon died in 300 AL, leaving his throne to the then 14 year old Joffrey. However, in those five years things have grown worse and having tragically lost their parents in an attack on Winterfell, the Starks and Jon Snow are alone.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

They stood shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, watching the fire blaze as their childhood home fell to ruin. Five Stark children, and one Snow, forever bound both by blood and honor.

_Winter is coming._

Robb, the eldest at two and twenty years, standing over six feet, his auburn hair a shock of curls against the white winter landscape. His face was worn and marred by scars and worried lines, battle wounds and signs of experience beyond his years. His blue eyes losing all their twinkle as he watched the lick of flames overtake the lower roofs of Winterfell.

_Winter is coming._

Rickon leaned against him, a boy of ten now, and less than a head shorter than his eldest brother. He looked like a younger Robb, his hair every bit as unruly and his face holding the same hard stare; only a few tears welling in the corners of his eyes. His hands were buried in Shaggydog's fur, quietly calming the wild animal.

_Winter is coming._

Sansa stood to the other side of Robb, her fiery hair hiding her face as she cried quietly into his shoulder. A slender woman of nine and ten years, her skinny frame had filled out nicely into a woman's body, and even crying she looked every bit the lady, graceful and soft.

_Winter is coming_.

Jon stood beside Rickon, his hand on his younger brothers shoulder, only a few months younger than Robb, he stood nearly two inches taller, his long lean body and unruly dark hair reminiscent of his father. His grey eyes were clouded with tears but he remained strong for his sister, whose hand he held tightly in his own.

_Winter is coming._

Arya. She squeezed Jon's hand tightly, a girl of six and teen she was just on the cusp of womanhood, but felt more a girl than ever. Her hair had grown and thickened, laying flat down her back but her body had still yet to fill out, still slight and diminutive. She bite her tongue to keep away the tears, silently rehearsing her list.

_Winter is coming_.

The last of the Stark's, five and ten Bran sat high atop his horse. The most sensitive of his brothers, his heart broke not for his lost home but for the people of Winterfell; the people who relied on them. His coloring favored his mother but he was thin and lean like a Stark.

_Winter is coming_.

They stood together, parentless children, Robb and Jon barely even children anymore, without a home and without a friend in the world save each other.


	2. Chapter 1

_Authors Note: There will be no major OC's in this story, while events have been edited and switched around; every major character mentioned appears in ASOIAF. This is rated M so you have been warned and may contain Starkcest (undecided at this point). Each chapter will focus on one of the Stark siblings or Jon Snow. For the record, Jon never went to the Wall, instead all the Starks stayed in Winterfell. _

**Robb Stark – Part One**

"_Women are born to endure, we see first our fathers leave for war, then our brothers and later our lovers, then finally our sons. We watch as they conquer and turn evil or fall. In the end it matters little which side they are on, for the men that they were is lost to us all the same. Don't let me lose you Robb." – Roslin Frey_

Kings Road was barren in the early hours of morning, layered thick with a fresh coat of snow; their footprints leaving heavy marks. He prayed it would snow before another traveler came across them.

Jon and Arya had argued that they should stay off the road, King Joffrey's men had surely moved on to Cerwyn and Moat Cailin. Any house of the North that did not stand with the King in his conquest of Winterfell would fall. Jon had quietly reminded them that they had no friends left. He had seen the Bolton sigil rise high in the sky when the offending troops had ambushed Winterfell.

But only Bran had a horse and traveling through the vast fields and unforgiving wilderness that made up the North would be too trying on Sansa. His eldest sister must have sensed he made the decision for her because she gave him a small private smile, her bright blue eyes twinkling.

"Did ye' hear that?"

Robb was drawn out of his thoughts by Rickon's hushed whisper.

"We need to get off the road," Arya pleaded, not for the first time that day. Her voice was acidic and irritated.

Beside her Jon nodded in agreement, his steely grey eyes making a quick sweep of the surrounding area, looking for signs of movement, signs of life, "We're sitting ducks out here Robb, we've got to get some shelter."

Overhead a crow cackled, its black figure a silhouette against the early morning sky, Sansa seemed to draw into herself.

"Arya and Jon are right Robb, we cannot stay on the road – it's too dangerous," Sansa's voice was shaky and her eyes stayed trained on the bird, "perhaps we should find cover and some rest?"

They were all tired to be true; The King's troops had attacked during feast the night prior, taking Winterfell by surprise. They had come from Wolfswood, quiet as a mouse until they began knocking down the walls of Winterfell, thousands and thousands of Baratheon and Bolton men. Robb had been sitting next to his promised, Roslin Frey, who had just arrived in Winterfell. It was their engagement feast. He remembered the look of sheer terror in the young girls wide brown eyes as she was torn away from him in the confusion.

Her pleading eyes haunted him, as he played over and over again the images of Ramsay Bolton grabbing her about the waist and dragging her off. What kind of man was he, allowing his future wife to become a prisoner of that bastard half-wit Ramsay Bolton?

He looked back at his siblings; he had done it for them. When the attack began he was seated to his father's right, and in the chaos the older man had leaned over and whispered in his ear, "Find your brothers and sisters and get them out Robb. Run Robb, run!"

He was responsible for them now, all five of them, even Jon who was only a few months younger than himself.

"Alright then," he looked to his right, Wolfswood stood dark and forbidding beside them, "we can rest, but only for a bit and we must stay in the woods."

Even Rickon had the sense to look mildly afraid. The Wolfswood was dangerous at best of times, but now that they were aware the offending troops had a working knowledge of the dense foliage, it was downright frightening.

Still Robb knew it was their best chance at not being seen. Soon the sun would hang high in the sky and Kings Road would be busy with those traveling throughout the North, many towards Winterfell in morbid curiosity.

Even if their footprints were seen heading towards the woods, few would follow. Robb was sure that most thought the siblings had perished in the ambush, so even if someone did find the footprints odd, they would not make the connection. Or so he prayed.

"Well let's get on with it then, or should we wait around to be caught?" Arya huffed passed her siblings, shoving the skirts of her grey dress out of her way as she stumbled towards the woods.

Robb watched on amused, it wasn't every day you see little Arya Underfoot in a dress, truth she was not so little anymore, but she still favored breeches and tunics over dresses. Their lady mother Catelyn had insisted she wear a gown like a proper lady for the feast though, there was to be many eligible men there, from House Frey and various other houses, and Arya was reaching marriageable age.

He wished now that his mother had allowed his little sister to dress as she wished, her heavy skirts could only slow her down.

The trees edged out even the slightest bit of light from the early morning sky, bathing the little group in darkness. Still they walked on, it would not do to make camp by the edge of the forest. Instead, Bran leading the way on his horse, they walked deep into the forest before coming to a small clearing.

"This will do."

Robb dropped the small satchel he had been carrying since they left Winterfell, reaching in to pull out blankets for the others. By the grace of the Seven Gods, old and new, Septa Mordane had found them the barest of provisions, pressing the satchel in Robb's hands as they fled the Great Hall, repeating the same haunting words as his father, "Run Robb, run."

Sansa made a big bed for all of them, they would need each other near to keep their body temperature up, and Jon placed Bran in the middle after lifting him off of his horse and securing it to a nearby tree.

Rickon and Sansa joined Bran, curling close together against the cold. This was better for them; at night it would be too cold to sleep, better to find rest in the day and travel under the darkness of night.

Robb sighed heavily, scanning their campsite once more, Arya and Jon were leaning against a large tree at the edge, whispering thick as thieves, their heads bent closely together. He often wondered about them, so alike in personality and appearance, both Starks through and through.

His eyes were heavy with sleep and he knew the other two would guard them, so he lay down beside Rickon, allowing nightmares to overtake him.

In his dreams he saw a pale slip of a girl with long mouse brown hair and wide brown eyes, screaming for help, screaming for him.

xXx

As heir to Winterfell, Robb had gone on many journeys with his far, Lord Eddard Stark. He had visited his Tully family at Riverrun and the Arryn's in the Vale, he had even been to Kings Landing once, a long time ago when Robert Baratheon was still king.

Just two years prior he had journeyed to the Iron Islands with his father, to return Theon Greyjoy. Theon had been a captive of the Stark's, four years Robb's elder he had been one of Robb's closest confidants as a youth and had been treated more as family then prisoner.

He had never understood what pushed his father to return Theon to the Iron Islands, he only knew one day his father had sent for him and Theon, brought them to the Great Hall and explained that they were leaving Winterfell; Theon permanently.

That night he had gone to Theon's room, to talk to him, but had seen a sight that stopped him. Theon, a man of four and twenty, was weeping bitterly into his hands. Robb had watched him in morbid fascination, surprised that the Ironborn man was not rejoicing at the news that he would rejoin his family.

He had never discussed that night with Theon or his father, he had never discussed it with anyone. Then the next day they were off and before long Theon was far behind them, stuck on the Iron Islands with his snarky elder sister Asha and his lord father Balon Greyjoy.

They would return there now, to the Iron Islands. Balon Greyjoy had died six moons ago and Asha was head of the Iron Islands, but Theon would help them.

One sleep had once again evaded him, Robb had hatched this plan. They had been on the move for nearly a week, passing the fallen Cerwyn and Moat Cailin, sometimes by Kings Road and other times scampering through the undergrowth, Bran riding a bit ahead to warn them of upcoming danger.

If they could cross the Twins then they could charter a ship out of Seagard, though without money Robb wasn't sure how they would manage.

They would be safe in the Iron Islands, he could leave Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon there and return to the North with Jon to raise an army and regain and rebuild Winterfell. Then, he would turn to Kings Landing and exact revenge against King Joffrey.

Imagining this future kept Robb moving, even when his legs felt weak and his stomach rumbled with hunger. He would avenge his parents death, and then, when this was done, he would bring his siblings back to Winterfell and return their home to its former splendor.

"My legs hurt."

Rickon, once again, brought Robb back to reality. For any hope of revenge was far off, first he would have to reach the Twins and somehow gain them passage across. He thought of Roslin, the Frey's would not be glad to see him, knowing the fate he left their daughter to.

Still, he must continue on. He looked around him, to Bran up ahead sitting high on his jet black horse, to Arya and Jon trudging along just behind him, whispering as always, to Sansa doing her best to help Rickon who was weak with sleep and hunger; he must continue on for them.


	3. Authors Note 1

Not a real chapter! Sorry! That will come later today, but, just wanted to answer a few questions and clear a few things up.

First things first, as for couples I don't know the end couples but you will see…

Theon x Sansa

Sandor x Sansa

Willas x Sansa

Robb x Jeyne

Robb x Roslin

Jon x Arya

Jon x Dany

Arya x Gendry

Bran x Meera

Also, a guest reviewer asked how the Baratheon and Bolton men conquered Moat Cailin. Simply, they were NOT coming from the South. They came through the Wolfswood to attack Winterfell, then travelled down to Cewyn and Moat Cailin to attack. Therefore, following canon, they attacked from the North.

How they managed to make it that far North without the Stark's knowing will be further explained.

Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed, followed and read. I will have the next chapter (Jon) up at some point today!


	4. Chapter 2

_To clear up any further confusion – Jon Snow is with Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon. As to how Winterfell was taken, that will be explained later on. _

**Jon Snow – Part One**

He can feel the temperature rise as they travel further South, the snow slowly melts leaving Kings Road a slushy muddy mess, sticking to their pants and the girls dresses, weighing them down. They are fortunate though, warmer weather also meant more wildlife. They fish with crudely made poles along the side of the Trident and Rickon has taken to making crude traps to catch rabbits to cook on a spit over a fire. They've fashioned rocks into sharpened points to cut and skin what Rickon catches.

They've been stopped just before the Twins, in the last expanse of woods, for a day now, while Robb decides what to do. They are heading to the Iron Islands, Robb has confided to him while the other slept. Jon is more weary of the Iron born than his brother, he has never trusted Theon Greyjoy. But Robb is the heir of Winterfell, a fallen Lord but a Lord nonetheless now. And his brother. He will follow him anywhere.

They are not so fearful anymore, now that they have left the ruins of Winterfell behind them. They have carefully avoided villages in their travels but have heard whispers on the road, stories of the burning of Winterfell and how King Joffrey has placed his mothers cousin, Lancel Lannister as the Lord of the North, a new title. The other houses have bent easily to him the whispers say, and the Starks are no more.

It comes as a relief really, to know they are thought dead. It's safer for them. That's why Robb is hesitant. The Frey's will recognize him, there will be no lying to cross, once the Frey's know that the Stark children live the whole of Westeros will know, then they must pray the Iron Islands can protect them.

Jon worries about Arya; she hasn't slept well since they set off. When they stopped to rest, the others would fall down in exhaustion, their eyes fluttering closed before they set up the blankets at times. Not Arya though, she tossed and turned in her sleep, muttering names he did not know and words he could not understand, until finally she would give up on sleep altogether and wander the perimeter of their encampment.

They walked alone, sometimes behind the others, other times out ahead; their heads close together whispering back and forth. Jon could not keep secrets from her, and so what Robb told him he would confide in her. She questioned Theon's loyalty too. Perhaps more so than even Jon.

She questioned most of Robb's actions, picking at everything he did, dissecting it and then when he would send her away, cursing under her breath. He watched them now, arguing while Sansa cooked.

"It'll take us almost two moons to go back Arya," Robb's voice was tight, trying to reason with his younger sister, "besides, the Neck is full of swamps. It's far too dangerous for you and Sansa. Nevermind trying to get Bran across on horse. It doesn't make sense Arya."

Jon arched his eyebrow, waiting for Arya's reaction. It was sure to be explosive, she didn't take well to being told she couldn't do something. She liked being compared to Sansa even less.

"_I_ could cross the Neck just fine," she crossed her arms, grimacing, "besides, it's a good deal safer than admitting to Walder Frey that you live while his daughter suffers at the hands of the bloody Bolton."

"The crannogmen helped Joffrey's men Arya."

"How can you be sure?"

"I just know, alright?"

Arya rolled her eyes, "the Reed's pledged fealty to the Stark's, they wouldn't do that."

"As did the Bolton's, but you trusted Jon when he said they were with the King's men," Rob's eyes darkened, "trust me Arya. The crannogmen helped them. Southern men would never be able to survive the Wolfswood without help from Northerners."

"The Bolton's are Northerners too."

"And bloody idiots!"

Sansa tensed as their voices rose, turning to speak, "Stop it you two! It won't do any good to fight, we need to stick together. Besides, Robb is right, it would make sense that the Reed's would help."

The two turned to her surpised, having forgotten momentarily that they weren't alone, "and how would you know this?" Arya questioned.

"Princess Myrcella was promised to Jojen Reed. Honestly Arya, do you ever listen?"

"Not to stupid gossip about stupid people."

Sansa rolled her eyes, "It was thought to be a, _peculiar_, match, but now it makes sense. The Reeds may seem to be an insignificant house, but Joffrey must have needed them for something."

The shadow of a smirk crossed Robb's face as he turned back to Arya, "See? The Reeds were involved. Now please, I need to think. Help Sansa cook or something."

Jon remained quiet, Robb and Arya were strong personalities, it wouldn't do to get involved and if he sided with Arya it would turn into an all out war between the siblings, that was the last thing they needed.

"I'm going for a walk," Arya announced, kicking at her skirts annoyed, "join me Jon?"

Robb bite his tongue, deciding against telling her it wasn't safe. Jon would protect her, they both knew that.

He nodded in agreement and stood, following her into the deep forestry.

"Mother and father have barely been dead a full moon and Robb already thinks he is the mighty Lord of Winterfell," Arya complained, kicking at pebbles, "if I had needle with me I'd stick him for talking to me like that."

Jon chuckled, though no longer a child at six and ten, she hadn't lost many of her childlike qualities.

"He is the Lord of Winterfell Arya."

"Winterfell's gone Jon."

Her voice cracked ever so slightly when she spoke, biting back emotion. Arya seldom cried since they began their journey, only allowing herself to feel anger. Jon knew this was how she kept going, still it hurt him to watch her morph into a vengeful, blood lusting person instead of his sneaky, always laughing Arya.

He watched her as she came to stop by a little creek, staring down into it thoughtfully, as if she didn't recognize the reflection. She had grown this past year into a woman, perhaps not as pretty or soft as Sansa, but there was something quietly attractive about her lean body, only the shadow of curves filling out her thin frame. Her long dark hair was swept away from her face in one long plait, revealing the hollow of her pale neck.

She caught him watching her, her steely eyes full of confusion.

"There were whispers these past few moons, of the Targaryen and her dragons," Jon said, quickly diverting her attention, his voice a hushed whisper. Even the woods had ears.

Arya nodded, "I heard father discussing it with Jory before the feast. Her name is Daenerys, they say she has white hair and purple eyes though no one in Westeros has laid eyes on her in years. Father thought she was plotting to take the Iron Throne from Joffrey."

Jon had heard this as well, and more. He was like a ghost at Winterfell and often went unnoticed, allowing him to hear many important private conversations.

"It would be her birthright."

Arya looked up to meet his eyes again, "She's all the way in Qarth though. Whose to say she really has dragons?"

"There's a reason the Dothraki still follow her, rumor says a red comet appeared in the sky when her dragons hatched and that she's nursing them until they're big enough to fly."

"I won't sit by at Pyke while you and Robb take back Winterfell. I'm not Sansa, Jon, I won't sit by idly." Her voice was pleading, searching Jon's face for his answer.

He knew she would say this, though Robb had not revealed what he had to decided to do beyond making it to the Iron Islands, they both knew he would return to Winterfell, and he would want Jon by his side. Rickon was too young, and Bran was a cripple since falling climbing.

"What do we do then Arya? Robb won't allow you to come."

Arya worried her lower lip between her teeth, her expression resolute, "We have to find Daenerys."

Jon was afraid she would say that.

xXx

In the end it was decided Robb would approach the Twins alone, so if things did not go well Jon could protect the others. He left just after the sun rose the next day, stepping out into the open sunlight for the first time since they had left Winterfell. It was a short distance from the woods to the entrance to the Twins, and the others stood on the edge of the forest, watching.

Arya had laced her hand through Jon's, her tight grip the only sign of life in her. He knew she worried about Robb, despite their fighting the two loved each other as fiercely as any siblings ever had and he knew if she had been allowed, Arya would have accompanied Robb.

Sansa was whimpering quietly, her arm around Rickon who was clutching his stone dagger, a constant companion since Shaggydog had disappeared with the other direwolves.

"He'll be ok, won't he Jon?" Rickon asked, turning his dagger over and over in his hands.

Jon stared straight ahead, willing his voice to calm, "Yes Rickon, Robb will be ok."

He felt Arya squeeze his hand harder.


	5. Chapter 3

**Sansa Stark – Part One**

Sansa had just begun cooking the little rabbit Rickon had caught when they heard them. Far off voices coming from the Twins, growing louder as they neared. Frey men. Jon had been nearly asleep but sprung to life at the sound, standing in front of the others, his arms spread wide as if to protect them.

"_It's just over here."_

Robb's voice.

She noticed her half brothers arms relax just a bit, still he was cautious, his eyes darting back and forth in the direction of the noise. Just behind him Arya was clutching the dagger Rickon had been playing with earlier, she must have taken it from him.

Robb appeared first, Stevron Frey at his elbow. They were with a small group of Frey men, loosely armed and looking rather aggravated.

Roslin had told Sansa about her eldest brother, Stevron, once while they were practicing their needlework. Just a passing comment or two when Sansa had mentioned her own siblings. She had called him her kind brother; it had seemed strange at the time, all Sansa's brothers were kind so she had no knowledge of the cruelty one could endure at the hands of ones own blood.

Stevron was a weasely looking man, with light grey eyes that held nowhere near the steel or strength of Arya or Jon's. He was old, in his sixties she guessed, older than her parents had been, but he smiled kindly when he saw them.

"All the Stark children, alive," he murmured, in wonder, mostly to himself.

Robb smiled weakly at his siblings, something wasn't right.

Stevron waved them over, "Come along then, we have horses waiting. And a ship. My father, the Lord of the Twins, has commanded it."

There was a glint in his eye. Something was amiss, she was certain of it now.

The five remained still, a safe distance away from the suddenly more foreboding looking Frey men. Though few were physically bigger than Robb, he looked weak amongst them, his eyes giving away his uncertainty.

Stevron looked at Robb, "Mutes you have here? Tell 'em to hurry up. It's getting to be dark."

Robb swallowed thickly, "Everything is alright, we need to get on the road to Seagard tonight though, so please hurry."

Sansa felt a pull on her skirt and looked down, Bran was sitting propped against a tree looking on helplessly.

"Jon, put Bran in his seat." She commanded, with a newfound strength, "Arya, Rickon let's go. The Frey men were kind enough to come out here and find us, we should not keep them waiting."

She turned and smiled a sickeningly sweet smile at the waiting men who were leering at her, ignoring Arya's grumbles as all her siblings, surprisingly, followed her commands.

The walk to the Twins was not as far as it had seemed when Robb had left that morning, before long they were standing in the shadow of the massive structure, being ushered across.

She snuck more than a few glances at her eldest brother, who seemed to be deep in thought, his head down as he walked ahead with Stevron Frey.

True to his word, there were horses waiting at the end for them. Nothing like Bran's black purebred, just simple work horses who looked a bit worse for the wear.

Stevron patted Robb on the back heavily, "Be safe Lord Stark, my son Ryman will make sure you get to your ship safely."

The two shook hands and the elder Frey began to walk away, his men following, before turning once more, his eyes watching Sansa though his words were meant for Robb, "Remember our deal now boy, you understand?"

Her brother nodded, swallowing heavily. It appeased the older man who turned, disappearing across the bridge again with his men. Only one man remained beside them, she deduced it was Ryman Frey.

He was an older man, though not nearly as old as his father, not terribly tall but with a belly so big he looked as if he might topple over. His cheeks were red and he was wobbling as he stood, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

"Shall we be off then?"

xXx

Stevron Frey proved himself to be every bit a man of his word, they reached Seagard in half a days time and found an unmarked ship waiting on shore for them. Their temporary companion, Ryman Frey, gave little explanation for how they had readied a ship so quickly. He made sure they found their way safely aboard and than was gone, headed back to his ancestral seat.

Once free of the Frey's, Sansa felt instantly lighter. She had never traveled on a ship before and was, to her dismay, feeling very excited.

Her and Arya were meant to share a cabin, the smallest on the ship with one tight little bed, but Arya was off somewhere up top with Jon, leaving her to her thoughts.

_Knock, knock. _

She jumped slightly, hesitant to answer.

"It's Robb."

The door opened slightly, "Are you decent?"

"Come in."

Her brother entered, shutting the door tightly behind him, "We need to talk Sansa."

He joined her on the little bed, his eyes never quite reaching hers as he wrung his hands.

"We'll need to find a horse once we reach land, Bran is too heavy to carry even if you and Jon take turns. He likes his independence too, though he won't – "

"We need to talk Sansa," Robb spoke at last, cutting her off, "we didn't gain free passage across the bridge."

"I will be going back there then won't I?" It was more of a statement then a question, she began to understand the look the Stevron Frey had given her.

Robb shook his head, "No, though I could tell Stevron liked the look of you. It isn't you Walder Frey is interested in though. When my match was arranged," his voice faltered at the mention of Roslin, "when my match was arranged, Lord Frey was also looking to marry off his son Elmar."

"To Arya."

"Yes, to Arya. They are the same age and Walder took a liking to her."

Sansa was shocked that he would discuss this with her. Robb had always been kinder to her than the others, valued her more then they did, but he had never spoken to her about anything of importance, never trusted her with such intimate details. Jon was his confidante, not Sansa.

"Father turned him down though," he continued, "he knew Arya was not ready to marry. So Walder was forced to arrange another match for his half-wit son. He has so many children Sansa, more than you can imagine and some of his elder sons still have not made good matches."

Sansa choked back the bile rising in her throat, the thought of her wild little sister tied down to an old man sickening, "How old?"

"I had my choice, I chose as best I could, please believe that," his voice was pleading for understanding. That was why he had spoke to her first; good, sweet Sansa would understand, would be complacent and agreeable. She felt sick at herself too.

"How old?"

"His name is Perwyn, he's a decent man Sansa. Ten years my elder maybe, he will take care of her."

Her voice, though quiet, was filled with a venom she did not know she possessed, "So you sold our baby sister to the weasels."

"I did it to protect us."

Robb rubbed his face in his hands, his shoulders sagging. The past month had aged him more than she had realized, when he looked up again she saw his face was fret with worry lines.

"You didn't protect Arya."

"I'm trying Sansa, give me some credit."

She smoothed out the creases in her hopelessly dirty dress, thinking idly that she now understood what it was like to be Arya, come from a day of swordplay and fighting in the mud with the boys; she felt the dirtiness clinging to her skin and visibly cringed.

"You should have offered them me, Robb. Arya will be no good at keeping peace with the Frey's, and Jon won't let her go. You know that." She would sacrifice herself for her sister she realized with a start.

"I wish the world wasn't this way Sansa, I wish I didn't have to barter with my own blood but I must. I must regain Winterfell for mother and father."

Sansa was spent, all her strength used up on what little words of rebellion she had found, "Of course you do not wish this Robb," she patted his hand gently, "you're the Lord of Winterfell now, you cannot think solely as our brother any longer."

Sweet, docile Sansa had come back to the forefront, willing to listen to her brother; willing to understand.

"Need I ask who you intend to offer me to?"

Robb rose, running his hand through his unruly hair before opening the door, "Do not hate me sister."

He answered her with his avoidance, already half way out the door when she spoke again, "I will grow to like the Iron Islands Robb, please don't trouble yourself with your worries."

xXx

News had reached the islands of Pyke long before their ship did and when they stepped foot on land for the first time, Bran clinging to Jon's back, they were greeted with the first familiar face they had seen since leaving Winterfell.

Theon Greyjoy, the reinstated Prince of the Iron Islands, awaited them on shore, a smirk on his face.

"I don't believe it, you lot really survived then."

He looked older than when Sansa had last seen him, or maybe she had not looked as closely as she did now. A man of six and twenty, Theon stood nearly as tall as her brothers but the resemblance ended there. He was leaner than Robb, but the muscles of his arms corded below the skin even when he was not flexing, his brown hair hung in front of his light blue eyes, a hint of mischief sparkling there, and his face was darkened with several days growth of a beard. His skin was tanner than any of the Stark's and he was dressed in fitted armor and long black sleeves, a sword hanging by his side.

Gone was the boy that would play with Robb as a child, allowing the younger boy to tag along with him. He looked wild, as wild as the Ironborn people were known to be.

"Welcome to my home!" He threw his arms out, gesturing towards the barren islands, only the crudest of buildings in close proximity.

Sansa noticed more than a few soldiers rolling their eyes.

From behind him came a woman, built similar to Theon, with the same wiry muscle. Her hair was cropped close to her face, darker than Theon's and highlighted full lips and shapely eyebrows that appeared to be constantly arched. She was dressed almost uniformly to Theon.

"Welcome to the Iron Islands, children of House Stark," when she spoke the soldiers seemed to regard her with a total respect, turning towards her, their heads bowed, "we have learned of your misfortune at the hands of that pussy _King_ Joffrey." This ellicited laughter from the men, "We sympathize with you and would seek to open our home to you."

Who was this woman that was so freely speaking and so crudely at that. A lowborn certainly, surely not Theon's wife, they would know if he had married and that would ruin Robb's plans for her.

"I am Asha Greyjoy, Queen of the Iron Islands," Theon scowled at his sisters back, "yes I did say Queen, do not look so surprised. It is time I take my proper title, don't you agree, Lord Stark?"

Robb bowed his head, "I believe it fits you very well, m'lady."

This appeased the Iron Queen, who smiled broadly at them, before turning to her men, "Ready the horses, up to the castle now."


	6. Chapter 4

_The next chapter will be a combination Bran/Rickon._

**Arya Stark – Part One**

_Left, left, right, left, right, right, turn, left, left._

Arya ducked, avoiding the oncoming sword and twirled behind her attacker, bringing her sword to his neck, "Now you're a dead boy."

Jon pushed away from her, panting, and turned to face her, his grey shirt sticking to him, "Nicely done, your dancing lessons have served you well."

She curtsied, sword in one hand and smirked, "I'm a better fighter than you and Robb."

One intense stare met another, steely greys that nearly mirrored one another. Jon shook his dark curls away from his face, wiping the sweat from his brow, watching Arya as she turned away from him, fighting an invisible enemy. She could feel his eyes on her back as she jabbed and ducked, twirling away from an invisible blade.

It had been Jon who had first taught her to fight, carrying her into the Godswood where two wooden swords awaited them. Later, it had been Jon who had begged their father to let Arya learn how to wield a thin sword he had commissioned for her, a sword she had named needle and slept with nearly every night. She had him to thank for Syrio.

She had filched the swords they were using now from a pair of drunken Iron born soldiers after dinner.

He came closer, reaching out for her, his hands heavy on her shoulders as he gently pulled her near. She held her breath, waiting; something had changed in the air. He turned her slowly, staring down at her with hooded eyes.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke, "Being better than your brothers will not be enough Arya. If you are to come with me, you need to be the best. Do you understand me?"

She nodded, silently, staring up at him with a fierce determination on her face.

"Hide these in your room," he nodded towards the swords, "I can't bring you Syrio, but I can help you practice. We need to leave soon Arya."

"I'll be good Jon, I promise."

She leapt at him then, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck as she pulled him close. She heard him say into her ear, relaxing a bit as he lifted her from the ground, holding her tightly against him.

She would be good for him.

xXx

She'd half expected to see Baratheon ships appear on the shoreline at any moment. Surely someone must have told the King that they had survived. But the days past one after the other without a sign of a Bolton or a Baratheon or any other noble house that aligned with them. Perhaps, the Frey's had, after all, kept their word.

They were safe at Pyke, though Arya feared she would die of boredom. Robb spent most of his time locked up in private with Asha or Theon, sometimes both. Even Jon was forced to attend these meetings, keeping tight lipped later when he would seek her out. Bran and Rickon explored the island on horses specially fit for them and Sansa spent most of her time in their shared room, working on her embroidery.

Arya felt the worst for her sister. Iron born women were not proper ladies, not like the woman of Winterfell or even the South. No, like Arya, Asha and most of the women preferred pants and tunics, weapons strapped to their sides. It had taken two days time for a new dress to be procured for Sansa and it had been so plain and ill-fitting she had almost cried.

Normally Arya would have rolled her eyes at this, but she felt the ice around her heart melt ever so slightly for her sister. All her life Arya had been an outcast in Winterfell; she knew how Sansa hurt now, an outcast amongst the other woman.

She tried to stay with her, comfort her, but the room suffocated with her sadness and Arya found herself fleeing, seeking sunlight and fresh air she would not find on the damp, overcast island.

She walked the perimeter of the castle, ignoring the damp chill that seemed to have settled to her very bones since they arrived. Up ahead a tall, dark figured leaned against the wall. She contemplated turning in the other direction, but she was a Stark and Stark's feared no one.

A closer look yielded a familiar face.

"Well if it isn't little Arya Underfoot," Theon cooed, his voice dripping with sarcasm as his eyes surveyed her.

They had never gotten along, even as children. Though ten years her elder, Theon had held a hostile hatred towards the girl ever since she was old enough to speak. Constantly pulling pranks on him, scolding him, treating him as an inferior. She had hated him just as thoroughly, as she watched him talk down to Jon, boss around little Bran who only wanted to spend time with the big boys and leer after the women, even her own mother. They had been constantly at odds, pulling Robb into things, making him chose. Every time he chose his sister, it was a sharp slap in the face to Theon, so desperate to fit in with the Starks. And when he would chose to spend time with his friend, over his wild little sister, it would push her further away from him and closer to Jon. It was always a push and pull between the two.

But, she was a guest in his home now, and biting her tongue, she greeted him as politely as possible, "Theon," she said with a slight bow of her head.

He was smirking widely, as if he knew something she didn't and couldn't wait to tell her.

"Have you enjoyed my home?"

She wanted to tell him she hated it, but kept quite, nodding briefly in his direction.

His smirk grew wider still, "Don't grow use to it little girl, I don't think you'll be here long. Your brother seems to agree."

She briefly wondered if he had overheard her and Jon talking, but they were so careful it couldn't be, that could only mean – "Robb is taking me with him? Is that what he told you?"

Perhaps her eldest brother was starting to come to his senses.

She realized this assumption was wrong as Theon broke out into hearty laughter, clutching his sides, "You really think your brother, the Lord of Winterfell, would bring a little runt to battle? Be serious, you're a girl."

"I could beat you!" She hissed, her cheeks flushing red.

His laughter cooled, the hatred replaced on his face, "The only thing you'll be fighting off is the advances of your husband and his filthy relatives."

Her stomach dropped.

Theon was good at reading people and read the confusion on her face quickly, "You mean you don't know then? You're meant to be a Frey, don't you know that?"

The passage across the Twins. The curious stares. Robb's avoidance of her. It all made sense now.

"Shut up stupid, you don't know anything."

"Lady Perwyn Frey; that's what we'll be calling you soon. A fifteenth sons wife, a nobody. Won't be so high and mighty then will you bitch? No longer a lady of Winterfell, no longer anybody!"

"SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!" Arya was screaming herself hoarse now, fighting back the tears blinding her eyes.

"Lady Frey, has a ring to it." His voice was taunting, playing over and over in her head. _A nobody_.

The sound of foot steps behind her revealed they were no longer alone. She turned, her two eldest brothers coming closer through her blurred vision.

"Arya what's wrong?"

Jon. The traitor. He must have known, Robb told him everything. Their plans, all their practice and planning, just a rouse to keep her spirits up when all along he knew she would be married off and taken away.

"I hate you!" She screamed, her voice loud, accusing, as she shook with rage.

Robb reached her first, grabbing her by the shoulders, "Calm down Arya, you're acting crazy."

"GET OFF OF ME! I HATE YOU!" She wrenched free from his grip, shoving off him and turning to run, glad she was no longer stuck in her dress.

Behind her their footsteps pounded, following her as she ran for the gates, leaving the castle behind. They were fast, but she was faster, small and lithe and able to quickly gain distance on them. Before long the shore line grew closer and their footsteps disappeared.

She stopped, out of breath, by the rocks that littered the shore, climbing over them and wedging herself down into a flat area, with a little overhang. Her tears came then, hot and accusing on her cheeks, the first she had cried since they had left home. Robb and Jon were liars, and traitors. She hated Theon Greyjoy. She hated the Pyke and the Iron Islands. She wanted Nymeria and her father's comfort, her mothers soothing touch. She wanted home.

"Don't cry little one, the world isn't going to end. Not today."

She straightened up, startled at the strangers voice, looking around. From around the corner of the rock came Asha Greyjoy, dirt streaking her face she must have just come from riding.

"My brother is a bully and a cock, don't listen to him."

The older girl sat down beside her, letting her hair fall freely from her plait.

"I hate them all," Arya breathed out at last, staring down at her hands.

Asha nodded, "Fuck 'em then. Men only want you for two things little girl, a good fuck or a good deal. You'd do well not to forget that."

"I won't marry a stupid Frey. I won't marry anyone."

Asha smiled slightly, "Perhaps you have a bit of iron in you after all little one. If you don't want to marry, you have to leave. You understand that don't you? They'll make you go, chain you up in pretty dresses and send you off to the Twins, to an old man who will come to your bed every night to lay with you."

Arya flinched at her words.

"But how?"

"I can help you."


	7. Chapter 5

**Bran and Rickon Stark – Part One**

Bran imagines there's nothing more humiliating than having your little brother, a boy of ten, carry you about at five and ten. Though he reminds himself, it would be worse still to be confined to the castle day in and day out. He misses Hodor, with his peculiar little basket he would carry Bran around in, and his horse, a pure black stallion with a special saddle designed by Tyrion Lannister, when the King came to visit his father; when the accident happened.

He must settle for Rickon now, who though still a boy would have stood as tall as Bran if he could stand, and had the strength of a work horse. Sometimes he would carry him on his back, or when he grew tired he would push him in a little cart they had found abandoned.

The Ironmen stared at him as if he was an unknown creature, the little Lord whose legs betrayed him, the cripple. He did his best to ignore the stares and whispers, but when it became too much he was grateful for his sister Arya, who would scold anyone who dared stare too long with her sharp tongue.

When he did grow weary of the attention he would spend the day inside, sending Rickon away when he came to collect him. That's when the dreams would come. Peculiar dreams lead by a crow with three eyes. He sees many things in his dreams, his brother Robb kneeling at an altar, his head replaced with Grey Wind's. He's never called Robb in these nightmares, but referred to as the 'Young Wolf' or the "Wolf King'. He wakes in a cold sweat after, praying for his brother to the old gods and the new, though he isn't sure he believes in them anymore.

He used to go faithfully to the Sept with his mother, and would kneel beside her and pray. He believed if he were good and kind his words would be answered. Even after his accident he believed, never asking for his legs back, instead thanking the gods for his life.

Then one night he had dreamed of lions made of fire ravaging Winterfell, ripping his parents to shreds, chasing his siblings away from their home. The next night the lions had come, knocking down the doors and pouring into their home, thousands of them with arrows and swords and battle-axes. He had meant to die then, stuck in his seat beside his mother who was bleeding profusely, choking on her own blood as she threw her body over him. He was ready to accept death, lying in the arms of his mother. It was not to be, however, no sooner had he closed his eyes welcoming death, than he was in Jon's arms being carried away from the chaos.

He stopped believing then. He had been so good and faithful, never questioning their actions, never pitying himself even when he was crippled. But still they had taken from him, again and again, until he had little left to take. Surely if there were gods they could not be so cruel.

It was easier to live in a world without gods.

xXx

He likes the way they look at him, the Iron born men, a combination of fear and curiosity. The wild one they call him, more wolf than boy.

Sansa calls him temperamental, smoothing down his curls and begging him to be a good boy. Robb and Jon barely consider him at all. They are all siblings, bastard or rightful heir, half-sibling or full, but Arya and Bran are his pack. Carrying his brother on his back day after day has become a habit, an honor, a necessity, one must help their pack always. Arya taught him that, she understood him when he spoke of his pack, she felt the same. Arya taught him many things, how to punch someone square in the nose, how to stick someone with a sword and how to ride, back bent close to the horse, faster than any rider from the South. Arya was wild like him, wolfs blood coursing through her veins.

She had two packs though, the one they shared and then a private one, only her and Jon allowed in. Only Arya truly looked like Jon, like father. Rickon hated looking at Jon, hated feeling like the little boy that he was, missing his mother and father. Jon never really looked at him anyways, his eyes were always on Arya, following Arya, worshiping Arya. He knew without being told that Jon would take her away from his pack one day, that maybe they would never return. He wasn't sure he could look Jon in the eye if ever the time came, fortunately it never did, Jon's eyes always held Arya's alone.

He felt guilty to admit he was happy when Bran stayed in. He could move faster without his older brother, running barefoot around the island, climbing trees and jumping low fences. He had thoroughly explored the island within a week of arriving, and now he had to content himself with staring out to see. Sometimes he thought he could faintly make out the borders of the Wolfswood if he squinted, or perhaps it was just his memories, playing in a haunting loop behind his eyelids when he closed his eyes.

xXx

When Bran felt well enough to come out of his room again, it was for supper. Typically they ate with Theon and Asha, but tonight they supped alone. The others were uncharacteristically quiet. Even Jon and Arya did not speak, sitting on opposite ends of the table, the latter glaring intently at the former who seemed to shrink under her gaze.

Robb's hands shook as he clutched his fork and knife, and he didn't even have the energy to entertain them with stories of childhood as he usually did.

He knew better than to ask what had come to pass and instead he studied his brother as he ate, memorized the outline of his jaw, the shadow of coppery facial hair sprouting. He looked for signs of wolf-like characteristics, but all he saw was Robb. Perhaps his dreams were just that, dreams.

When they finished it was Jon that came to fetch him, offering his neck to Bran who wrapped his arms around securely, feeling safe with his cheek pressed to his brothers back. He could see, but not feel, Jon take hold of Bran's legs, carrying him silently from the hall.

"She's very angry isn't she?"

He felt Jon's hair brush his face as she nodded, "She isn't the only one Bran."

"Who are you mad at Jon?"

His brother didn't answer.

Suddenly Bran was mad at all of them. For fighting so selfishly, and for leaving him out. He may be a cripple but he was a man now, Robb had been younger than him when he began accompanying father in his lordly duties. They were all so unfair, and selfish, hypocrites the whole lot of them.

He wondered idly what would happen if he let go of Jon's neck, if his body would swing down, crashing his head into the floor. If he died right there his head split in too, or if he lapsed into a dreamless sleep. Would Sansa and Arya hold vigil by his bed? Would Robb wish he had trusted more in his brother?

He banished the thoughts before they had time to root in his head. They were good and true, all of them, and they loved him fiercely. He squeezed Jon's neck slightly, "Thank you Jon."

Thank you for this and everything else, thank you for being my brother. He imagined his brother smiled at this, understood what he was saying without words, though Jon remained silent.

He hoped they all knew.

xXx

_**Well there you go! Two updates for the price of one, though this one was a bit short. Bran and Rickon's chapters will be a bit boring until things pick up I'm afraid. Next up – Robb – Part Two.**_


	8. Chapter 6

**Robb Stark – Part Two**

Robb couldn't help but feel he was failing miserably at this lord business. His father had become Lord when he was younger than Robb, and had led the North into Robert's Rebellion. So far all Robb had managed to do was piss off four of his five "loyal subjects". Outside his immediate family and perhaps the Greyjoy's, nobody considered him the Lord of Winterfell. Most considered him dead, and those that knew he lived saw him as a little boy playing grown-up.

He had wanted to knock Theon's teeth in when he found out what he told Arya, but he had so few allies it didn't seem wise to physically harm one especially when he was on the outs with his brother and chosen confidante. Jon's eyes had turned hard as stone when he had found out what the whole fuss was about, and he had rarely made eye contact with Robb since.

That's how Robb found him, sulking openly, in the Great Hall, his eyes glinting steely when he registered Robb's presence.

"I need to speak to you _brother_," Robb said, using the title against Jon. He hoped to remind him of his duty to Robb, his blood allegiance.

Jon leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, waiting.

"This is why I hadn't told you to begin with, I knew you wouldn't be able to distance yourself from the situation, to look at it with a clear mind. Allies don't come without a price Jon."

Jon remained silent, his jaw clenched.

"Did you think she would never marry then? Even if Father were alive, she would marry. Perwyn Frey is a good man; I have met him on several occasions. He will treat her well."

The rage came off Jon in waves, creating an almost unbearable tension in the room.

"I'm the Lord of Winterfell now, I must do what is best for the people, not just for us. I would never have gained passage for us across the Twins without a bargain."

Jon spoke then, his voice strangely quiet despite the fact that they were alone, "And what of Sansa? She's the elder sister, why did the Frey's not ask for her? Why did you choose Arya instead?"

Robb sighed, he suddenly felt much older than his years, "I told you Jon, allies don't come free. The Greyjoy's won't aid us for nothing either, and I thought a Frey was a damn near better match for Arya than the person she can least stand in this world."

"There are other ways to gain allies than bartering off your sisters."

"And what are they? Because I've yet to see any. We've no money, no gold, no men. I have nothing to barter with _but_ Arya and Sansa. Do you think I enjoy this?"

Jon hung his head, relaxing his posture, "No. Forgive me brother, perhaps I have been too harsh on you."

"I tried to avoid this Jon, I thought to offer to wed you or Bran to one of Walder Frey's daughters, a companion for Roslin when we return to Winterfell, but – "

Jon cut him off, his face full of understanding, "But nobody wants a cripple or a bastard."

Robb nodded, "Aye."

"When will you send her off then?"

"A raven came from the Frey's before we broke fast yesterday. They're sending their septa to Pyke, they want to, check, her."

"For what? Certainly they cannot think – "

"We escaped Winterfell under attack Jon, you know what happens in attacks."

Jon nodded and said, "Have you spoken to Arya yet?"

"She won't see me, she won't see anyone save Bran and Rickon."

"Try again Robb."

Robb nodded, "Aye I will."

Jon made to leave, but turned in the threshold of the doorway, "You think Roslin made it then Robb?"

Robb swallowed thickly, "I think so, yes, though I am not sure if she wouldn't be better of dead than where she is."

xXx

The call had been sent out through ravens and word of mouth, precautions taken to ensure the message would not fall into the wrong hands. Any man who laid his allegiance with Robb Stark would meet in one moons time at the Twins, to begin the march on to Winterfell.

He would go with Arya and Jon, one would remain at the Twins with her new husband and the other would march into battle with him, his right hand man; his most trusted confidante.

There was a wedding to arrange first however. He did not want to leave Pyke without Sansa being duly wed to Theon, she would be safe then. He trusted his friend despite what others thought, he would protect Sansa better than she would be protected if she were left amongst the savage Ironborn unwed.

He liked little the idea of his sister wedding anyone, laying with anyone, least of all his whore of a friend. But she was no longer the child he had instinctually protected, she was a women grown and far past the time when most ladies were married.

Theon had agreed to a wedding in a week's time; marriage was hardly celebrated on the Iron Island and it would not be the big celebration they were used to at Winterfell. He remembered, dully, that this seemed to upset his sister the most. She had dreamed of her wedding since childhood and had seemed stung by the knowledge that she would not see the fulfillment of her dream.

He thought of his lady mother, of what she would say if she knew where her precious Sansa, her prized jewel, was going to spend the rest of her days.

He had insisted Sansa and Theon spent more time together, now that they were intended to marry. He was now regretting that decision, watching the two of them with a sour taste in his mouth.

Their conversation seemed pained, grasping for words though they had nothing to say. Robb had noticed how Theon leered at her, licking his lips subconsciously as he eyed her body. His sister was beautiful, to be certain, but did not deserve to be treated in such a way; even by her future husband.

"Did you hear me Robb?"

Robb was shaken from his thoughts, "I'm sorry sister, please forgive me, but I seem to have lost myself in my thoughts."

"I said, do you not think perhaps Theon should ride with you to Winterfell? I will be alright here, and it would do you good to have a trusted friend by your side."

His sister was smarter than she appeared. Theon would surely swell with importance if Robb asked him to come, then if Sansa were lucky he would die in battle before he left her with child and she would be free to marry.

He appreciated her cunning, but the plan was to keep her safe, not to stroke Theon Greyjoy's ego or get him killed.

"I think sister, perhaps, it is best that Theon stays here to protect you and the boys. Do you not agree Theon?"

"But Asha –"

"That is my decision Sansa."

She bowed her head, "Yes my lord, it was only a thought."

He felt more and more like an arse as the days passed. Commanding others to stop speaking when he no longer wished to continue a conversation, making the decisions for everyone. Not for the first time he felt infinitely older than his two and twenty years.

"The sun has finally made an appearance," Sansa said changing the subject, "perhaps you would be so kind as to take a walk with me my lord?"

She was speaking to Theon this time, her voice melodic, hiding the acidity, she played her part well.

Theon nodded, "If you'd like."

Sansa turned to Robb, "Arya was in the practice yard with Rickon earlier, perhaps you should go check on her."

Perhaps he would.

xXx

As Sansa had predicted, Arya was to be found in the practice yard, teaching Rickon how to properly shoot with a bow as, surprisingly, Asha Greyjoy watched on, a twinkle in her eye.

He nodded at Asha, "My Queen."

"Ever so formal _Lord_ Stark, I am the Queen of the Iron Island, not _your _Queen."

"What shall I call you then?"

"Just Asha will do. I s'pose it isn't me you've come to find though, am I right?"

He nodded, looking over at Arya. The younger girl eyes had not left the target as she showed Rickon three perfect shots in a row.

Asha stood, "Rickon, perhaps we can go for a ride along the shoreline? I think there are some places you may have missed in your exploration."

The little boy nodded, taking Asha's hand obediently and allowing himself to be lead away.

After they were gone, Arya stood fast in her ignoring of him, collecting the arrows silently, her back to him all the while.

"You cannot avoid me forever you know."

"I can try."

He chuckled, "Come on Arya, don't you at least want to yell at me a bit? Maybe use me as a moving target?"

She turned, one eyebrow cocked, "Well now that you mention it…"

She held the bow at to him then, "Take a shot Robb."

He accepted it, memories flooding back to him of home; of watching Arya best Bran every time there was a target around; of little Arya no more than eight begging him to teach her, then practicing until her fingers bled and he had to carry her to her chambers.

He let his hands grow used to the bow, it was cheaply made, and not the quality he was used to at home.

"Don't be angry with Jon, Arya. You can be cross with me if you'd like, it wouldn't be less than I deserve, but don't be angry with Jon."

She frowned, "He's just as traitorous as you, why shouldn't I hold anger towards him?"

"Jon didn't know Arya."

He saw her expression grow muddled, confused, as her face softened, taking in the new information.

"I wish the world did not work this way Arya."

"It doesn't have to Robb. Most girls are married off by four and ten, sometimes younger. Father protected us from that."

"That was under different circumstances Arya."

"When do I leave then?"

"Soon," Robb eyed her wearily, confused by the ease in which she had given in, "The Frey's are sending a septa first."

"To make sure I'm still a maiden?"

"Aye."

"And when they find I am not, what then."

He felt the color leave his face as every particle of his body came alive with rage, frustration, at the thought of a man laying a hand on his youngest sister. He searched for the words to say, stumbling over himself as he spluttered indignantly. He wanted to rip someones head off, kill them.

"Who?"

Arya had shrunken away from him, her own face ashen at the realization of what she had said.

"Jon."

xXx

No matter how long he remained in the Pyke he would never learn all the passages and hallways and how they interconnected, he was forever lost. Today however he had little issue finding his way directly to his brother's room.

He hadn't bothered to knock, catching Jon off guard as he sharpened his sword.

Robb knocked it from his hand, before tackling his brother bodily to the ground, his fists landing blows against his brothers face, ignoring his yells of protest and question.

He vaguely registered Arya behind him, screaming, grabbing at his arms.

Every time he felt his fists connect with Jon's flesh, he felt worse instead of better as the rage continue to build. His knuckles were sore and stained with blood, though he wasn't sure if it was his own or his brothers.

Jon seemed to in shock to fight back, protecting his face from the blows and scream indistinguishable words at his brother.

It was only the presence of Sansa that stopped his assault, she had entered the room without his knowledge and had helped Arya yank him away just long enough for him to realize the damage he had done.

Jon lay against the stone ground, his right eye too swollen to see out of, and his lip and nose pouring blood, he stared up at him confused.

"How dare you lay a hand on her!"

Jon wasn't looking at him any longer though, staring over his shoulder, his eyes full of confusion.

Robb turned too, pushing off his haunches to stand.

Sansa looked stricken, standing in the corner a hand covering her mouth; and in the middle of the room Arya stood, tears streaming freely down her face, a sight he had rarely seen, as her eyes locked with Jon's.

"I only said it because I thought he wouldn't make me marry the Frey. I only said it so he would let me stay here, with you." Her voice was pleading, and Robb realized she wasn't speaking to him.

It dawned on him suddenly, a wave of nausea overwhelming him, he had been duped. Arya had lied about Jon, lied to get her way.

He turned back towards his brother, who had now risen as well, "Jon, I – "

Jon shook his head, using the back of shirt sleeve to wipe his face of blood, "It isn't your fault brother, you only meant to protect our sisters honor."

"I was lied to."

"I'm sorry."

She sounded sorry, another first for Arya. He wondered though, was she sorry for telling him a lie, or sorry that her lie had hurt Jon.

Sansa stepped forward, "Robb, I can assure you Arya is still a maiden. Jon, our, our, our brother," she struggled over the words, she had never felt like Jon's sister, "he would not do that to you, or her, to our family, our father. Arya was just being a selfish child."

Arya made to protest but was silenced by the stares all three leveled on her.

She stepped forward timidly, "Please forgive me."

Robb shook his head, "I need to think."

He had just beat his brother terribly, his one truest ally in the world and he had beat him ruthlessly, all over the lie of a child. It scared him that he could hold such raise.

Scarier still, he had, if even for a short while, believed that Arya and Jon could have laid together as man and woman. He had drawn up all the memories of them from the past years, especially the past few moons, and for the briefest moment it had made sense to him.

He needed to escape the suffocating chamber, full of the irony stench of blood and heavy with accusation. He needed to think, to clear his mind.


	9. Authors Note 2

I hate doing this, because I feel like it breaks up the continuity of the story, but I've had a few questions via reviews that I would like to answer to clear the story up for some people.

First though, thank you to EVERYONE who has read, reviewed, followed and favorited my story. I appreciate it more than you know, both the compliments and the constructive criticism. Now, on to the explanations!

A reviewer expressed confusion over why Bran was crippled since the whole event with Jamie Lannister never happened. I just always picture Bran as being crippled and I don't think I could write him if he wasn't. It will eventually be explained what happened.

I am writing Robb the way I am for a reason, I promise! Robb is one of my favorite characters and I think he's a very honest and loyal character. I also think that he was a bit pampered living in Winterfell his whole life, he didn't have much experience with the little skirmishes that happen between different houses because he was isolated so far up North. All the Starks in fact, had a fairly idealistic childhood. Now that Robb is being forced to be the Lord of Winterfell, before he is ready, I feel that he is somewhat lost in the role and trying to redeem honor for his mother and father. Because he is not experienced in being a Lord, I feel that he naively believes that he can take back Winterfell and restore his family honor. He no longer has his parents for guidance so I think he is acting in a way he thinks a Lord should, which includes arranging marriages for his sisters and protecting his land above all else.  
I do think that Robb genuinely loves his siblings and loves Winterfell so he feels torn over what to do. Everything he does do is with the best intentions and trust me he does love Sansa and Arya. Basically, despite being a grown man he has the mentality of a boy playing Lord. I got this feeling from the book as well, though he tried hard, he often made foolish decisions (i.e. breaking a promise to the Frey's). Robb has the ability to be a great warrior and leader, but he needs to grow up a bit first.

As for Sansa, I had to change her quite a bit because her life took a different path in my story. In the books she was forced into turmoil at a young age and didn't necessarily mature enough to truly understand the ways of the world. In my story she is nineteen and has grown quite a bit, she has learned from her mother how to be a woman and what a woman's place is in the world. She has grown out of the stage where she believes in love stories and charming princes. She is the same Sansa from the book, just a more mature Sansa.

I've had a lot of people express distaste at the idea of Arya and Jon, or Jon and Dany, etc. I can't help if you don't like all the pairings in this story, I have yet to decided the final pairings, but I have a general idea of where things are going and I can't change that based on what some readers/reviewers like and dislike. I hope you stick with the story still, but if you don't I completely understand!

With that said, I am working on the next chapter right now and it should be up either later tonight or tomorrow at some point.

Thank you again! I am so so so happy that all of you are enjoying the story!


	10. Chapter 7

**Jon Snow – Part Two**

He wakes with a start, the throbbing in his head commencing as he leaves his dreams. His forehead feels cool, a welcome relief from the pain of earlier. It has sense muted, a dull throbbing ache he can almost ignore.

It is with great difficulty that he opens his eyes, grateful to see, when he does, that the room is bathed in the dimmest of light. It must be nighttime.

A shadow crosses his face as something stirs next to him, he is not alone in the room.

"You're awake."

Arya.

"How are you feeling?" She asks, bringing a dampened cloth up to his eye again, gently caressing it. That explains the coolness.

His yes flutter closed of their own volition, the cloth feels wonderful to his sensitized skin, "Like I've dead and been dragged back by the skin of my teeth."

He can sense her tensing up, serves her right.

She speaks at last, her voice quieter than he's ever heard it, repentant, "I am sorry Jon, I never meant for my words to hurt you. I was desperate you see, desperate not to leave you."

"Did you see the way Robb looked at me? My own brother."

"It was a terrible lie to tell. A sin to even pretend."

"Aye."

Unanswered questions raced round his brain, begging to be asked. He was hazy still with sleep and the words slipped out before he could correct himself.

"Do you think of me in that way Arya?"

He forced his eyes open, eager to see her reaction, hear her answer.

"Yes, sometimes."

It was as though the wind was knocked out of him. He was expecting anything but that, never that.

He gingerly pushed himself up so he was sitting, leaning forward towards her, his eyebrows knitted tightly together, "That is a sin Arya, I am your brother."

"It doesn't feel like you're my brother, not the way it feels with Robb or Bran, or Rickon."

He understood what she meant, though he wished to the gods old and new that he didn't. For she was his sister, he had known this her whole life, yet now she seemed less a sister and more of a mystery woman, sent to destroy his heart. A siren of the snow.

She looked a mess, her hair having fallen from its plait, hung loosely around her face and her wide eyes were set into deep purple half-moons, she hadn't slept.

"Where are the others?"

"Sansa came to check on you, she cleaned your face, but she was tired and Rickon was being a brat so she left. Robb was here earlier too, he feels awful you know. He wouldn't look at me."

"He will forgive you Arya." God forgive us both, he added silently.

She looked down, studying her hands.

Jon scooted to the right side of the bed as best he could, using his free hand to pat the newly opened space beside him, "Rest Arya. For I fear morning will only bring more problems. We must cherish the time we have."

He was going straight to hell.

She obliged silently, she was in a pair of soft linen breeches and a matching tunic, her feet bare, almost as if she had planned this. She slipped in gently beside him, curling in towards him unashamed, her face burying in his chest.

And gods this felt so right. He turned a bit more to face her fully, pulling her in tight with his arm swung possessively around her.

Perhaps Robb had been right to beat his face in. Perhaps he had not hit him hard enough.

xXx

As Jon had predicted the following day was a difficult one for all the Starks.

Arya had disappeared before he awoke, and when he did at last open his eyes, it was Sansa waiting for him. A peculiar sight indeed, for unlike the others, Sansa had never held any particular affection for Jon.

Seeing her now, silently tending to his wounds, he wondered if she truly believed Arya was lying. She assessed him with guarded eyes once she was finished, remaining ever the formal lady, her faced trained to show no emotion.

"Robb requests your presence in his chambers, I believe he wishes to apologize to you."

Jon nodded and offered her a small smile she did not return.

She turned to leave, than faltered, thinking before turning, "I trust you Jon, and I know you are a good man. Please don't break my trust."

Those words haunted him as he made his way to his brother, his head down to avoid stares. It wouldn't do to have the Iron born informed on their dispute, Theon Greyjoy may soon be his brother-in-law but he was still a sinner and untrustworthy to boot as far as Jon was concerned.

He found Robb pacing his room, muttering to himself. His brother looked infinitely older than even the day before, his face fraught with frown lines.

"Brother, you were looking for me?"

Robb stopped abruptly at the sound of his voice, the muscles of his jaw tightening as he took in Jon's appearance, "You look like shite."

"Aye, I have you to thank for that don't I?" He responded with a small smirk.

"Forgive me, I lost my mind momentarily."

"There is no need to forgive, I'd have done the same if I was in your position."

Robb sighed, "Arya behaved like a spoilt child, sometimes I'd like to wring her neck."

"She's afraid Robb."

He nodded, sighing deeply, "I know."

Robb sank back into an easy chair by the only window in the room, gesturing for Jon to take the other.

It was a relief to sit, he was sore all over from the day before.

"Things need to start moving along, we leave for the Twins in only a few weeks time. Sansa will be married this weekend. I can't put it off any longer."

Jon nodded, "And what of Bran and Rickon?"

"Asha Greyjoy has been kind enough to extend her hospitality to them. They will be safe here."

Jon didn't want to trust the Iron born, but there was something about Asha Greyjoy that he couldn't quite place. She would keep his brothers safe.

He looked up meeting his brothers gaze. There was something different in Robb's eyes, a far off look Jon had often seen in his fathers during times of trouble. Robb had always favored his mother, a Tully from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet, but sitting across from Jon now, clad in the tight fighting uniform of the Iron born he mirrored a young Ned Stark in every way that mattered.

"You are a good man brother, stop worrying so much."

"I hope you're right Jon, I certainly hope you're right."

xXx

He found her by the water, hidden by the expanse of rocks on the shoreline, her head ducked low to avoid the sea spray.

She smiled when she saw him, a secret little smile he did not see often, and made room for him next to her. It was a tight fit, but a fit all the same and they sat for a while in silence, so close he could almost feel her heart beat. His arms ached from being crossed so tightly in front of him, so with only slight hesitation he stretched his arm out around her, his fingers curling around her side and pulling her close.

"Rickon thinks he can see home if he squints hard enough," She spoke at last, "sometimes I see it too. Then I realize it's just pictures playing on the back of my eyelids and I open my eyes."

"We are a long way from home sister, but perhaps if you squint hard enough you can always see it."

She frowned, "Don't call me that."

"Sister?"

"Yes, I don't like it. I don't feel like your sister, so don't – "

"But you are my sister."

"Half."

He turned as best he could to face her, "What is wrong with being my sister?"

"I'd rather be your lover."

Her cheeks deepened red as she realized what she said, her eyes sinking down as she developed a sudden interest in her hands.

He bite his tongue as he felt a tightening in his lower belly, _his lover_. Jon reached out, taking her chin in his hand and gently raising her head, "That is what you truly wish Arya?"

She nodded, finding her voice, "And what do you wish Jon?"

He was a sinner, a disgrace to his father, a traitor to his brother and a scoundrel of the North, but gods he couldn't control what he did next.

It was so sudden he barely realized what he did, but then his lips were against hers, roughly claiming purchase. She gasped against him, sending heat shooting through his groin, before pulling him closer, her little hands holding tightly to his waist.

By the gods old and new, if this meant he would go to hell there wasn't anywhere else he would rather be.


	11. Chapter 8

**WARNING – THIS CHAPTER IS RATED M FOR A REASON.**

**Sansa Stark – Part Two**

Theon Greyjoy was drunk. Not just a bit tipsy from too much of the strongwine brought specially in from Dorne, but well and truly drunk. Sansa wondered idly if that would cause a problem with the, necessary, coupling expected on their wedding night. She couldn't help the ghost of a smile that crossed her face at the thought.

It was the first genuine smile, no matter how small, she had managed all day. Her wedding day. It certainly was never what she had expected her wedding day to be. None of the typical fanfare she had grown used to in Winterfell, just a simple ill-fitting grey dress and only her younger sister standing by her side.

She took a small sip from her cup as her eyes scanned the room. There was a rowdy dance of sorts going on in the middle of the room, Asha Greyjoy swinging from one of her soldiers to the next, her hair whipping through the air. A few of the other Iron women were also dancing wildly to the bawdy dance. Theon had not asked her to dance.

Truth be told she wasn't sure he was capable of dancing at the moment. His lascivious stare had been fixed on her for the better part of the last hour, and he appeared more annoyed than anything with the wedding "celebration".

Arya was seated to her other side, head resting on her hand not even attempting to hide her own boredom. Unlike Sansa, she was taking gulps from her cup of wine.

Sansa fidgeted, smoothing the skirts of her gown carefully. She hoped Theon would pass out before they called for the bedding ceremony. As a young girl she had thought it was so exciting, now she felt ill at the prospect.

At the very least, she reasoned with herself, Theon wasn't terrible to look at, even if he was a pervert.

She was jarred from her thoughts by the raucous cheer that rose up throughout the Great Hall; they were calling for them to be bedded.

She turned to Arya her face a mask of terror, but her sister had disappeared into the crowd and instead the men that had attended the wedding were surrounding her, leering at her as their hands pried at her clothing. She searched frantically for the familiar face of her brother Robb, or even Jon at this point, someone to protect her from the roaming hands of the ruthless Ironborn men.

"Strip her well," one of the men cried out as his own hand ripped apart the bindings of her bodice.

By the time they pushed her through the door of their bedchamber she was completely undressed and trying hopelessly to cover her body. The door slammed shut with a resounding thud and then they were alone.

Her eyes wandered the room, looking anywhere but at her bridegroom who was standing before her, in an equal state of undress. He was assessing her openly and if the smirk on his face was any indication he was very happy with what his alliance had bought him.

"Are you scared?"

The question shocked her into looking at him. He looked different than she had expected a man to look, having only others descriptions and her own imagination to work from. His body was lean but tight with muscle, and far less hairy than her old friend Jeyne had led her to believe all men were. A thin trail of soft looking downy hair ran from just below to his belly button down his stomach to the tuft of black curls that nestled softly just above his jutting member.

"Yes."

He chuckled lightly, whether at her assessing stare or her reply, she wasn't sure.

"Lay down on the bed."

She did as she was told, giving up her futile efforts at covering herself and instead sitting down on the edge of the bed. He was before her now, leaning over her with a glint of something she didn't quite recognize in his eyes.

"I'm going to kiss you," he announced and then his mouth slanted against hers, stealing any response she might have had and sucking the air from her lungs.

His tongue probed her mouth relentlessly, teasing her own into a dance of sorts before pulling away, a roguish grin playing on his now swollen lips. He leaned in again pushing a lock of hair behind her ear and then whispered in her ear, "I'm going to fuck you so good you will forget how much you hate me little girl."

Her surprised gasp was silenced by another bruising kiss, but this time he took it further pushing her a bit too forcefully onto her back, his own body following her down and pressing against her as he laid on top of her. She was ashamed to admit that the kiss actually felt _good_ and she wasn't nearly as repulsed as she knew she should be by the insistent press of something hard into her thigh.

"Open your legs, Sansa," he spoke with a quiet demanding, his eyes never leaving her own as she did what she was told.

She bit her lip when his hand ghosted over her mound, stroking through the dark curls that had blossomed there. Her blood tasted metallic in her mouth as she tried to train her breathing back to normal.

"Relax Sansa."

He slipped a single digit down her fold, stroking her from top to bottom and back up again, circling the little nub at the top as a wicked grin played on his face. She did her best to hold back a moan, she wouldn't let Theon know she might be _enjoying_ this, even slightly.

A little breathy gasp escaped her lips when he slipped a finger inside of her.

"Gods you're tight."

That was supposed to be good wasn't it? The tone of Theon's voice lead her to believe it was good anyway.

He continued his ministrations as his mouth found purchase on the pulse point of her neck and suckled gently, another hand ghosting over her breasts and tweaking first her left, then her right nipple.

She was just beginning to allow herself to enjoy it when Theon pulled away abruptly, sitting back on his haunches above her. He ran one hand through his short hair as he stared down at her, his eyes unreadable.

Sansa pushed herself up on her elbows, forgetting all about modesty as she questioned him worriedly, "Is something wrong my lord? Did I do something?"

Did he think she was not a maiden? Surely that could not be. But his, his hands had been up _there_ and maybe he had felt something that told him otherwise.

Theon snorted, "I don't much fancy having sex with a dead girl?"

"Excuse me?"

"Quit laying there like you're dead Sansa, it can't be fun for you and it's starting to piss me off."

Sansa frowned, _the nerve of him_. She didn't want to be here, with _him_, she didn't want any of this. She was doing what was expected of her, did she have to pretend to enjoy it as well?

And then in a very un-Sansa like manner she leaned up and pressed her hands against his naked chest, shoving him off of her. He rolled over next to her on the bed, just barely avoiding falling off. The shock was evident on his face.

"Do _not_ speak to me like that."

She managed to push herself completely off the bed, standing fully and turning to face him hands on hips, "I am your _wife_ now Theon, you will respect me."

She waited, half expecting Theon to fly into a rage as he was famous for, but it never happened, instead a particularly roguish smirk crossed his face and his eyes twinkled with an unfamiliar glint that almost looked like desire.

"Stop looking at me like that." She hissed.

He stood up in front of her, towering over her petite frame, "Now that's more like it."

"What? I –"

Sansa was effectively silenced by the bruising force of his kiss, his hands twisting in her now loose hair, pulling her closer to his body.

He pulled away for just a moment to whisper laughing in her ear, "I knew you had it in you," and then he was twisting her around back towards the bed, tumbling them onto it rather ungracefully.

Sansa was ashamed to find herself responding to his kiss more than willingly, pressing her own body up into his insistently. She groaned in delight when his hand found its previous position between her legs, drawing maddening patterns on her now wet folds.

Theon broke away from her, pulling back slightly to look at her. He waited until he had her absolute attention before lifting one wet digit up to his mouth and sucking it clean, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head at the taste. Sansa's mouth hung open, unsure of what to do. It was the single most erotic and disturbing thing she had ever witnessed.

Then before she had time to react he was settling himself between her legs, pushing the blunt head of his member into her, slowly inching in and out until he met her barrier.

"This is going to hurt little girl," he breathed out in a tight voice, leaning down to lock his lips to hers before pushing through.

She writhed in pain, her hands failing miserably at pushing him off of her. He separated their lips, resting his head in the crook of her neck as he breathed heavily.

She shifted experimentally, her eyes dropping of their own volition to where their bodies were conjoined. Shifting her hips again, she noticed how his stomach muscles fluttered.

"I'm going to move now."

And move he did, driving in and out of her slowly at first before he gradually increased the pace. Soon he was slamming into her body, the smacking of flesh filling the air with every punctuation.

"FUCK SANSA!"

There was a burning growing in her belly, an indescribably good feeling that was enveloping her body, as if she was just on the edge of something great. Theon crooned something at her, in a decidedly un-Theon like sweet tone, and then he circled his hips in the most maddening of ways and she saw stars exploding before her eyes. The whole world dropped away as her body shook with the sensation.

She barely registered his body tensing and shaking above hers and then suddenly he was crying out a string of obscenities, his body collapsing onto of her with a shuddering sob.

He stayed there a moment, his weight constricting her already harsh breathing before rolling off of her, laying flat on his back on her right side.

A minute passed, and then another, before Theon reached one hand over, resting it flat on her belly, "Soon I'll have you so full of my seed that tiny belly of yours will be round with our child in no time."

xXx

It was rainy the day after the wedding, the skies completely grey as rain fell like tears. Sansa watched the rain tracking down the windowpane, pooling together at the bottom before disappearing from view.

It almost made her want to cry.

They would be leaving in just a day's time, Robb and Jon and Arya. Gone for the Twins where Robb and Jon would march on with Robb's supporters to take back Winterfell. She worried for her brothers, loathe she was to admit Jon was her brother at times, she could only see blood in their future. But it was Arya she truly worried for.

Her body ached from the exertion and unfamiliarity of the night before, and yet when she thought about it she didn't experience the disgust she had expected. Theon had been good to her, and she was beginning to allow herself to admit, if only privately, that she had enjoyed what had occurred between them. Theon was the definition of a man, she had always known it. Jeyne Poole used to follow him around Winterfell when they were younger, and she had heard more than one woman gushing about his prowess in the bedroom. A strange sort of pride washed over her as she thought about Theon, her _husband_, hers.

"You missed breakfast, your brother was worried."

She turned from the window, straightening her dress.

"Are you well?"

She nodded, biting her lip.

"Then why did you miss breakfast? Are you hurt? Did last night hurt you?"

He seemed almost worried for her as his eyes swept over her assessingly, looking for any sign of damage or pain.

"Just tired."

He nodded, trying to mask the relief that washed ever so briefly over his face as he stepped closer to her, one hand coming out to rest on her waist.

"Aye, that is what I told your brother. I think you will find being my wife is a _very_ tiring task little girl."

xXx

Theon was called away at lunch, Asha had things to discuss with him, leaving Sansa to her own wits. She had meant to find Arya, she sorely needed to spend time with her sister before there was no more opportunities, but instead found herself pacing outside her brother's chambers.

"Sansa?" Robb questioned as he appeared in the doorway, confusing written all over his face.

She stopped her pacing, hands folding in front of her so that they wouldn't flutter about nervously, "I'm sorry I missed breakfast."

Robb smiled affectionately at her, "There is no need to apologize sister, I am sure yesterday was very tiring for you. Has Theon been well to you?"

She could see it pained her brother to ask her such questions. Even as children Robb had been fiercely protective of his siblings, turning his sister over to his friend had certainly not been easy for him.

"Theon has been exceptionally attentive brother. He came to check on me after you broke fast together. He's with his sister now."

"Leaving you time for your brother then I guess?" Robb teased, offering her his arm.

She took it willingly and the two walked the damp corridors of the Pyke in comfortable silence. She would miss her brother when he was gone.

"Promise you will come back."

She hadn't meant to say it out loud, but the words had been playing over and over in her head all morning and she barely realized when they slipped out.

Robb's hand covered her own and squeezed lightly, "I won't make promises I can't be sure to keep sister."

"Robb please."

"You will be safe here Sansa, Theon will protect you and I do not believe anyone will cross the waters to pursue you. Bran and Rickon will be under your care while I am gone."

She felt tears prickling at the edges of her eyes, threatening to spill, "Please come back."

"I will try sister."


End file.
